Fertility Rites
by Syzygy
Summary: Trip and T'Pol finally get it together but have to suffer the consequences of being different species. Chapter 3 is up. Thanks for all the kind comments. Keep 'em coming.
1. Chapter 1

**Fertility Rites**

**Author: **Syzygy

**Notes: **This story begins some time after the events of Home and The Forge.

**Category:** Romance, Drama.

**Rating:** Rated PG for suggestive scenes and strong emotional content.

**Archive:** With permission

**Disclaimer: **Paramount Television owns Star Trek®, Star Trek: Enterprise® and the characters associated with them. I have and will accept no financial gain from this story.

**Chapter One**

****

**Star Fleet Headquarters, San Francisco**

**October 15, 2155**

T'Pol lit the candle with practiced economy. Not a meditation candle, it was for ambiance, a quality she hadn't appreciated until coming to Earth. Nevertheless, she took a moment to gaze at the candle's bright flame; to calm herself for what she felt sure was going to happen tonight. Something she wanted, yet feared. Something she felt was right, but must refuse.

Her reverie was broken by the overly loud, annoying buzz from the door. T'Pol looked around the small apartment one last time, ensuring everything was in readiness for her visitor.

It wasn't much to look at. Clean, serviceable, but little more. Barely three rooms decorated with generic government issue furnishings. Star Fleet's Bachelor Officers' Quarters were little more than way stations for officers between assignments. That T'Pol had lived here for six months was indicative of her situation. Static, waiting.

Waiting for today.

She braced herself and opened the door to Trip's smiling face.

"Hi, T'Pol," Trip said neutrally as he stepped inside. He was always careful not to show too much affection where others might see. It was a courtesy T'Pol the Vulcan appreciated, but one which T'Pol the woman found vaguely, and unaccountably, annoying.

Once the door was closed, though, things were decidedly different. Trip encircled T'Pol with his arms, planting a kiss on her waiting lips. "I'm not late, am I?" he asked after coming up for air.

"No," T'Pol replied. "In fact you are six minutes and twenty seconds early." She didn't wear a watch and there wasn't a clock to be seen in the small suite.

"How do you do that?" he asked, shaking his head in amused annoyance. Trip would probably be late for his own funeral. He _knew_ she did it just to irritate him.

T'Pol said nothing and to an outsider her expression would seem innocently neutral, but Trip could see the smile in her eyes as she brushed two fingers across his lips. It was an odd gesture, but one that was typical of their relationship. A compromise, if you will, between a human-style kiss and the Vulcan _ak'lota_, or companionable touch used by mated Vulcans. Trip thought it was sexy has hell.

"It is simply a matter of intellect and discipline," T'Pol said over her shoulder as she made her way into the kitchen.

"Meaning what?" Trip asked, taking off his coat and throwing it over a chair. She was baiting him. He knew it, but couldn't have stopped himself if his life depended on it. "I'm not smart enough to tell time?"

"Your intellect is not in question," T'Pol said from the kitchen.

"You're telling me I'm not disciplined?" Trip asked as T'Pol made her way to the table.

"I have studied flora with longer attention spans," T'Pol replied as she put dinner on the table.

"Har har har," Trip said sarcastically, turning T'Pol around and wrapping her in his arms. A kiss took the edge off his tone. After a moment T'Pol gently broke the kiss but didn't step out of his embrace.

"We should eat before the food gets cold," she said softly.

"And before anything else gets hot?" Trip said.

"Indeed," T'Pol replied, one eyebrow delicately raised.

"Smells good," Trip said, taking his seat. "What is it?"

"A vegetable curry from the market near the Admiralty."

"More vegetables," Trip said dejectedly. "I'm going to die of protein deficiency."

"Unlikely," she replied, refusing to be baited.

After dinner Trip and T'Pol sat on the couch, watching the fire and listening to the rain drum on the windows.

"T'Pol," Trip said, breaking the silence. "It's been fourteen months and twelve days."

"Yes," she answered quietly. Fourteen months and twelve days since Koss died. One Vulcan year since her husband died trying to stop the abortive coup his father and other government ministers had planned to blame on the Syrrannites.

"_Dö rhin'tu'pok Ka nöntet_," Trip said. _Your period of respectful mourning is complete_.

T'Pol looked up in surprise. After Koss' death, she'd explained Vulcan funeral rituals to Trip, including the year-long mourning period. She had expected him to bring the subject up, but had no idea he'd been studying Vulcan.

"Your accent is...unusual," she said, brushing her fingers across his lips.

"Hoshi's off somewhere on _Armstrong. _I had to learn from a teaching program," Trip said. "It's not that bad, is it?" he asked, a little concern creeping into his voice.

"You are understandable," she answered, and then leaned up to kiss him.

"Good." Trip shifted around to face T'Pol and took her hands in his own. He had what Hoshi called his 'little boy face' on.

"_Pa tak'lu quan shanät dök'na t'Pol q'tanq_. _K'ra royka te kah'lifee_." _T'Pol, whose clan name I do not know, I claim you. Will you seek a challenger_? T'Pol, will you marry me?

The words practically stunned T'Pol. She had suspected he would ask her to marry him, but hearing his proposal in the archaically formal Old High Vulcan affected her viscerally. It was like hearing an entire orchestra when all she expected was a single violin.

T'Pol held herself very still for a moment, gathering her wits. Then she slowly withdrew her hands from his, and in a small voice said, "I cannot marry you, Trip."

"What?!" Trip said, shock written on his face. "We talked about this..." He started to stand.

T'Pol reached out with lightening fast reflexes, clamping her hand around his wrist. She didn't apply pressure, but her Vulcan strength meant they might as well be chained together. He was not going to walk away before she had a chance to explain.

"_Listen_ to me," T'Pol interrupted. She closed her eyes for a moment.

"I cannot marry you," she told him. "Because I believe you would come to regret having a Vulcan mate." It was the hardest thing she'd ever said.

Trip took a deep breath to settle himself. He was a hothead. He _knew _he was a hothead. But what he needed right now was to be calm, rational. He took another breath before speaking.

"Why do you think I'd ever regret marrying you?" His voice was deceptively mild, though his heart was pounding.

"You come from a large family. You wish to father children some day." T'Pol raised her eyes to Trip's face. "We cannot have children together."

Trip's expression softened. "T'Pol, you don't know that," he said quietly. "After all," he said, a wry smile coming to his lips. "I've already been pregnant with an alien baby once."

T'Pol felt her own lips twitch at that. "The situations are not comparable," she said. "Neither Earth or Vulcan possess the techniques necessary to create a human – Vulcan hybrid."

"You make it sound so romantic," Trip said. "Look..."

T'Pol squeezed his wrist gently. "I have my research at the Admiralty. You are Chief Engineer for the Warp 9 project." T'Pol released his wrist and moved her hand to touch Trip's cheek. "I will be content to be your companion, your...lover, until you find a suitable human woman to marry."

Trip sat back with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "T'Pol, you are the smartest person I know, but I swear, sometimes..."

"It is a logical course of action," T'Pol said quietly.

That was it. He had _had_ it. Damned Vulcan logic bullsh...

"Listen to me Miss Commander T'Pol of Vulcan. This is love, not logic_. Love_. Got it? Do I want children? Yes, I do. But I want _your_ children, not some squalling brats from some woman I don't even know. Human knowledge doubles every eight years. On Vulcan, who knows? We might not be able to do it now, but a year or ten years from now we might. And if we still can't have children, then so what? There are dozens of different ways to be parents. We can adopt. We can find surrogates. Hell, who knows what might be possible in a few years. But I'll be damned if I'm going to lose you over this. Children or no children, I want to marry _you_. So unless this is some way for you to get out of marrying me because you don't want to it's a dumb thing to worry about and..."

Trip only stopped talking because he'd run out of air. He sat back, breathing heavily.

T'Pol stared at him, head tilted in surprised at his vehemence. "This is not an attempt to 'get out' of marrying you," she said calmly.

"Good!" Trip barked.

"You would be satisfied with a mate who could not bear your children?"

"Damned right!" Trip said, still seething.

"If you are sincere in what you just said then I accept your proposal."

"Good!" Trip spun around to look at T'Pol. "Really?"

"_Pa kah'lifee tö royka._." _I will seek no challenger._

****

**Johns Hopkins University Medical Center, Baltimore**

**June 21, 2156**

"I'm sorry Captain Tucker, Commander T'Pol, but it's just not possible."

"You haven't even tried," Trip said.

Dr. Marshall was a compassionate man, dedicated to medicine and science. He was also one of the best geneticists on Earth. But there were some things science couldn't do. Over the years he'd found it best not to give false hope.

"No, we haven't. But we have thoroughly studied the possibility. It's simply not possible to create a human – Vulcan hybrid given the current state of the art," Dr. Marshall told him. Trip bridled at the description of his future child but remained silent.

"Allow me to illustrate what you're asking us to do." Dr. Marshall steepled his fingers before going on. T'Pol nodded.

"Humans have forty-six chromosomes," the doctor said. "With a possible twenty-five thousand different possible genetic sequences. Vulcans have forty-two chromosomes with even more possible sequences."

"We would have to find a way to combine every one of the disparate sequences, find some way to handle the different number of chromosomes and have a healthy, functioning sentient being as the end result."

"But we've been fixing genes and changing chromosomes for over a century. We even created a bunch of supermen, remember?" Trip was frustrated and it was starting to show.

"Yes, Captain, we have. And we did," Dr. Marshall said. "But this isn't simply recombining human genetic sequences. Nor is it a matter of redesigning a human to produce copper based hemoglobin. We would have to design every system, every chemical and neurological process essentially from scratch. We would, in fact, be designing an entirely new species with both Vulcan and human traits."

"Dr. Chen in Brussels has been experimenting with synthetic DNA to replace damaged genetic structures. Have you consulted with her on this matter?" T'Pol asked.

"Yes, Commander. She was one of the first people I contacted after our initial meeting. She concurs with my assessment. She won't even attempt it," Dr. Marshall told her bluntly. He didn't tell her that Dr Chen had laughed out loud at the very prospect.

"Did you get my medical records from Star Fleet?" Trip asked.

"I did. Dr. Phlox's records were thorough and well organized. Your pregnancy was well documented, Captain Tucker," Dr. Marshall said, managing not to grin

"Were you able to derive any helpful information from the records, Doctor?" T'Pol asked.

"Unfortunately no, Commander. The alien embryo's development was well documented, but Dr.Phlox could only provide anecdotal or superficial information regarding the techniques involved in its creation."

"Thank you for your time, Doctor," T'Pol said as she stood.

"But..." Trip started.

T'Pol put her hand on Trip's shoulder. "There is nothing he can do for us. We should go."

Trip got up. "Thanks anyway, Doctor."

Dr. Marshall came around his desk to walk the couple to the door. "I'm sorry we can't help you, but scientific and medical advances come all the time. In a few years, who knows? Um, Captain Tucker?"

Trip stopped at the door and turned to look back at Dr. Marshall. "Yes?"

"You really thought it was just a bowl of rocks?"

****

**California Office of Adoption Services, Sacramento**

**September 6, 2156**

"I'm sorry, Captain, Ms Tucker, but the board has decided not to put your names on the global registry."

"Her name is Commander T'Pol and why not?" Trip hated bureaucracies. They all seemed to be about getting the minimum amount of work done with the maximum amount of effort. It offended the engineer in him. Today it was really pissing off the husband in him.

"Of course, Commander T'Pol. My apologies." Ms. Snodgrass seemed to ignore T'Pol even in the midst of apologizing to her.

"No offense was taken," T'Pol said. Ms Snodgrass didn't show any signs of having heard her.

"And again, why not?" Trip asked.

"There are very few children available for adoption and we are very selective in choosing suitable adoptive parents."

"Why have we been deemed unsuitable?" T'Pol asked. No one other than Trip could have detected the tremor in her voice.

"Both of you are Star Fleet officers," Ms Snodgrass said, directing her answer to Trip. "Your career takes you away from Earth for long periods of time. And it's a dangerous profession." She hit a few keys, scrolling through the records. "Almost twenty percent of your crew didn't come home from your last voyage."

"That mission was a little different. You do watch the news, don't you? You know, the Xindi?" T'Pol touched Trip's hand to calm him. Anger wouldn't help him make their case and would certainly prejudice them further.

"In any case, we don't have ship duty now." Trip looked at T'Pol. "T'Pol does research at Star Fleet Headquarters and I work at the ETF outside Oakland. The most dangerous thing I do every day is eat the food in the mess hall."

"ETF?" Ms Snodgrass scrolled through her records looking for the acronym. She'd completely missed his attempt at humor.

"Engineering Test Facility. My husband designs and tests warp reactors and nacelles," T'Pol answered. Ms Snodgrass nodded her head without looking up from the screen.

"But you can't guarantee that you won't be assigned hazardous duty in the future, can you?"

"No, we cannot," T'Pol admitted. "We are each subject to reassignment upon completion of our tours of duty. Similarly, we may be assigned temporary shipboard duty at any time should an emergency or crisis arise."

After a moment to reflect, Trip added, "But I can resign from Star Fleet today." T'Pol turned to look at her husband, clearly surprised at his offer.

Trip smiled at T'Pol. "Hey, I get offers every week. You know that. The president of Ares Interstellar tracked me down at lunch last week just to offer me a job as V.P of research and development."

T'Pol nodded her agreement.

"Would that help us get on the list?" Trip asked the bureaucrat.

"It would eliminate one problem." She hesitated for a moment. "But there would still be other matters." Her eyes cut to T'Pol for a brief second.

"What?" Trip blurted. "You have a problem with T'Pol?"

Trip stood up and leaned over Snodgrass' desk. "Is that it?" he demanded.

Snodgrass screwed up what little courage she had. "It's a well known fact that a Vulcan mother couldn't give a child the love..."

"Let me tell you something you pimple on a Klingon's butt," Trip said. "My wife, my _Vulca_n wife, has more love, devotion and compassion than anyone I know. She'd be a great mother and any child would be damned lucky to have her. She'll _be_ a great mother, with your help or without it."

"Captain Tucker, this meeting is over. Leave my office or I'll call the police."

"You bigoted little..."

"Trip, we should go now." T'Pol took Trip by the arm and steered him toward the door. She'd watched the exchange knowing she should intervene but had been unable to suppress a certain joy at watching her husband berate the unpleasant woman.

Turning back to Ms Snodgrass, T'Pol said "Bigotry is not exclusively a human trait. Some Vulcans believe humans are incapable of rational thought. Unfortunately they are not always wrong."

With that she was out the door, leaving Ms Snodgrass sputtering her reply.

Later that evening Trip tiptoed into the bedroom carrying a cup of tea for T'Pol. Hearing him enter she stepped out of the little alcove they'd set aside for her meditation.

"Sorry. I didn't want to disturb you," Trip said.

"You did not. I am having difficulty meditating this evening."

Trip set the cup down on the night stand. "Well, that probably is my fault." He kissed his wife and reached up to stroke the tip of her ear. T'Pol closed her eyes at the pleasurable sensation. "I shouldn't have let that little..."

"You were under extreme provocation," T'Pol told him, eyes still closed. "She should not be in a position of authority."

"It would be so much simpler if we could have kids the old fashioned way."

T'Pol opened her eyes. "It would." She brushed her fingers across his lips. Trip recognized the predatory gleam in her eyes. "Would you like to practice the necessary technique?" she asked.

****

**Star Fleet Engineering Test Facility, Oakland**

**September 23, 2156**

Trip downloaded the new data from _Hercules_, the engine test rig at the Lagrange 4 point. Located in Earth's orbit, but 60 degrees behind Earth itself, it was a suitable location to test nasty little things like un-tuned warp engines and anti-matter reactors. If anything went _boom_ it would happen far away from Earth and the more congested traffic routes.

The only downside, as far as Trip was concerned, was the time delay getting equipment to and from the test rig. But he figured it was worth the extra time if it kept a good chunk of northern California from disappearing in the pure light of an anti-matter explosion.

The engine currently being tested was scheduled to go into _Hermes'_ starboard nacelle in three weeks. Trip was running it at two hundred percent power for seventy-two hours straight. Only then would he certify it for installation. He knew what ships went through out in the dark. He'd spent enough time repairing them far from home.

None of his ships would die because their engines weren't up to the job.

The terminal on his desk chimed. Trip sighed. He really didn't have time for this, but pressed the accept key anyway. T'Pol's face appeared on the screen.

"Good morning, Commander," Trip said, ever mindful of his wife's public reserve. "What can I do for you?"

"I received a private communiqué from Vulcan this morning," T'Pol said.

"Is T'Les alright?" he asked. Trip liked T'Pol's mother. And she hadn't put up too much of a fuss when T'Pol told her she was marrying Trip, so he supposed she liked him back. Oddly enough, Trip seemed to get along with female Vulcans just fine. It was the male Vulcans who made his fists itch.

"She is well to the best of my knowledge. This communiqué is not from my mother. It is from an Academician V'Lor." T'Pol held up the little yellow message chip. "She is with the Sayon Genetics Research Institute," she added meaningfully. "According to the message, she believes she can assist us." She said no more on an open line.

Trip knew his wife. If she was calling about this during working hours it something he needed to know as soon as possible. He took a chance.

"So, when does the next transport leave?" Trip would have bet a year's pay T'Pol had the answer.

"The _Buenos Aires_ breaks orbit in five hours. There is another transport leaving in four days."

"Let's be on this one," Trip said, grinning from ear to ear.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Fertility Rites**

**Chapter Two**

**Sayon Genetics Research Institute, Vulcan**

**September 27, 2156**

"So, exactly what is this place?" Trip kept his voice pitched low. There were dozens of Vulcans in the hall, most of the giving him the occasional surreptitious glace. Humans were as much a rarity on Vulcan as Vulcans were on Earth. And Vulcans had at least as much idle curiosity as their round-eared neighbors.

"The Sayon Genetics Research Institute," T'Pol said matter-of-factly. She turned to look at Trip.

"I know that," Trip said. "But it looks like some sort of medieval castle," he added, pointing at the stone walls and narrow windows.

T'Pol nodded in understanding. "The building appears to be several thousand years old. At one time it may have been a fortress."

"You're kidding me," Trip said.

"She is not," said a voice behind them.

Trip turned to find the oldest Vulcan he'd ever seen. Her hair was a shock of white and her skin was weathered and wrinkled. Trip did a mental comparison and decided she must be at least 200 years old.

"I am V'Lor, director of this facility. You are Commander T'Pol and her husband, Captain Charles Tucker, III?"

T'Pol stepped forward, raising her hand in the traditional Vulcan greeting. "We are, Academician. I greet you."

V'Lor raised her own hand. "Peace and long life, T'Pol."

Belatedly Trip raised his hand in the same greeting. "Uh, hello," he said somewhat awkwardly.

V'Lor stepped toward Trip, hand outstretched in a gesture any human would recognize. Taken aback, Trip shook her hand. "Welcome to Vulcan, Captain Tucker."

"Thank you," Trip said. "Thanks for agreeing to help us."

V'Lor nodded her head in acknowledgement. "We can offer assistance. Whether or not it will be sufficient is for you to decide," she said somewhat cryptically. "Please follow me."

Entering her office, Trip looked around. There was a small conference table, lab shelves and work tables, a few odd-looking computer terminals along one, even an examination table for patients. Whatever else she did, V'Lor apparently did a lot of the hands-on work herself. Trip liked her already.

V'Lor pointed to the conference table. "Be seated. Would you like refreshment?" She watched as Trip pulled out a chair for T'Pol before sitting himself, filing the information away as one more idiosyncrasy of human behavior.

"Water," T'Pol said.

"Yes, please," Trip added.

V'Lor tapped the intercom and spoke a few words of Vulcan. After a few moments a young Vulcan man entered carrying two glasses of water on a tray.

"Does the lack of humidity adversely affect your mucus membranes?" V'Lor asked Trip.

"It's pretty dry, yeah," Trip answered. "I need to drink more water than usual."

"Do your mucus membranes dry to the extent that they crack and bleed?" she asked.

"Not so far," Trip said, a little alarmed at the possibility.

"It is not idle curiosity, Captain," V'Lor assured him. "One of our tasks here is to understand how species adapt to new environments and what genetic mutations occur to accommodate those changes."

"Yes, ma'am," Trip answered, still wondering that had to do with nose bleeds.

"Soon after our marriage, I asked the Vulcan Science Academy to conduct a medical assessment concerning Vulcan – human interbreeding," T'Pol told the elderly Vulcan. "They informed us that it was not possible."

"The Science Academy consists of some of the finest minds on Vulcan. I dare say they are probably correct," V'Lor said.

Trip threw up his hands. "Then why did you have us come all this way?"

V'Lor leaned forward and put her hands together. When she spoke it was as if she was sharing a deep, dark secret. "Because the Science Academy is also staid, dogmatic and often unwilling to 'think outside the box', I believe is the human phrase."

"And you can. Think outside the box, that is," Trip said suspiciously.

V'Lor leaned back in her chair. "Perhaps it is better to say we think inside a significantly larger box."

"Explain," T'Pol said.

"Commander, Captain, no one on Vulcan or Earth can combine Vulcan and human genetic sequences. But that does not prevent us from re-sequencing Vulcan genes to mimic human characteristics."

T'Pol's eyes widened in understanding. Trip looked from his wife to V'Lor and back again. "Would someone like to put that in terms I can understand?"

"Captain, Vulcan and human genomes are well mapped," V'Lor said. "Let us consider what is an obvious example in this case: the ear. We know precisely what genetic sequences result in a tapered pinna..."

"A tapered what?" Trip interrupted.

"The sound collecting exterior part of the ear," T'Pol told him.

"Thank you, Commander. We know what sequences will result in larger, more sharply tapered pinna and which will result in smaller, more delicately tapered ones, such as your wife's."

"Ok," Trip said, starting to get the picture.

"And while it does not occur naturally, we can, if needed, extrapolate a Vulcan genetic sequence that will result in a smoothly rounded pinna, Captain Tucker."

"You could give a Vulcan human ears," Trip said.

"More specifically, we could give a Vulcan child _your_ ears, Captain. We could produce a Vulcan genome which would result in a child with your ears, hair, facial structure, almost any characteristic you and your wife wish. In combination with T'Pol's genome, of course. Dominance characteristics could be determined or left to chance."

V'Lor raised a finger. "Do not misunderstand me, Captain. Genetically and physiologically, this child would be entirely Vulcan. We will not alter the basic anatomy, biochemistry or neurology."

"I understand." Trip looked over at T'Pol. "What do you think?" he asked.

"I am unsure. I will need more time to consider the ramifications," she said. T'Pol seemed distracted by something.

"Yeah," Trip said, nodding. "We're going to have to talk about this, Academician."

"Understandable. It is a significant decision and must be made with care," V'Lor said reasonably.

"Why?" T'Pol asked suddenly.

"Can you be more specific?" V'Lor responded.

"Why are you prepared to do this? It is not directly related to your research. Neither will it improve your reputation with the Science Academy. In fact, given their prejudices, it may damage it." T'Pol stared intently at V'Lor.

"T'Pol, that's not very...," Trip started to say, surprised at his wife's question.

"No, Captain," V'Lor interrupted him. She seemed more amused than offended by the question. "T'Pol's question is an appropriate one in this circumstance. She is not wrong when she says this may damage my reputation with the Academy."

V'Lor retrieved a small sculpture from one of the lab shelves, setting it on the table. "This is a _nu rhit'an._ A remembrance icon." It was a small stone carving of a Vulcan man, about six inches high and incredibly detailed. If it was hand carved it must have taken hundreds of hours of work.

"It represents a family member who has died in circumstances that preclude returning the remains to the family," T'Pol told Trip.

"An admittedly old-fashioned and arguably morbid tradition, but my family is somewhat both," V'Lor said. "My grandson, Starn, was the senior navigator on the _Seleya._" She touched the statue affectionately.

"_Pa tu no'fil nomit_," T'Pol said. _I grieve with thee_.

"I'm sorry," Trip told her. "I wish..." His voice tapered off. There really wasn't much he could say.

"I understand that the effects of prolonged trillium-d contamination are irreversible." V'Lor said. It was more a statement than a question.

"Yeah," Trip said. T'Pol nodded without speaking.

"Then you were instrumental in releasing my grandson from a state which, I believe, was worse than death. You each have my gratitude."

V'Lor returned the statue to its shelf and sat down at the conference table. "That is why I wish to help you in this matter," she said brightly. "And I will be retiring within the year, so there is very little the Science Academy can do to express its displeasure."

Trip had to smile at the image of this spry old woman sticking it to the Vulcan Science Academy. T'Pol, whose own opinion of Academy politics had fallen since she left it, nodded in admiration.

"If we elect to do this, what will you need from us?" T'Pol asked.

"We will need to collect several ova from you, Commander T'Pol." V'Lor told her.

"And pictures of my ears," Trip said, half jokingly.

"No, Captain. We will be much more precise than that. We will need samples of your genome as well. We will translate the appropriate sequences and imprint their Vulcan equivalents directly onto blank templates," V'Lor reassured him.

"So you're going to need blood samples," Trip said. He hated being poked and prodded by doctors, but in this case he'd happily give them all the blood they wanted.

"If necessary, but it will be more efficient if we use cells that already contain haploid genetic samples."

"Haploid?" Trip asked.

"They will need spermatozoa," T'Pol told him

"Sperma...oh, Lord," Trip said as understanding dawned. He would swear that behind that serenely neutral expression T'Pol was laughing at him.

"Your wife may assist you if you wish," V'Lor told him.

V'Lor had never seen a human blush reaction before. "Fascinating."

**T'Les Residence, Vulcan**

**September 27, 2156**

Trip and T'Pol were in the mediation garden, enjoying the relatively cool night air.

"So, what do you think?" Trip asked.

"I have not come to any conclusions," T'Pol said.

Trip stepped up behind T'Pol, kissed the tip of her ear and started massaging her shoulders. He could feel the tension in them. "That's not what I asked you," he whispered into her ear. "I asked what you thought."

T'Pol leaned back against him. "This is not precisely what we wanted," she said.

"No, it's not. But I don't see what difference it makes," Trip said soothingly. He wrapped his arms around her.

T'Pol spun in his embrace, facing him. "But the child would not carry your genes. Would you be satisfied with that?" He could see the worry in her eyes.

Trip smiled. "Who says it wouldn't be my genes?" he asked.

"Academician V'Lor, among others," T'Pol said, taking him literally.

"C'mere." Trip took T'Pol by the hand and led her over to one of the stone benches. Sitting down, he pulled her onto his lap.

"Right now, on the bookshelf in our study there's a book entitled The Teachings of Surak."

"There is," T'Pol agreed. "It was my mother's wedding gift to you."

"Yeah. Don't ever say that woman doesn't have a sense of humor. In any case, it's a book of Surak's writings, right?"

"And commentary and annotations," T'Pol added.

"What language is it written in?" Trip asked her.

"It is a translation into modern English," T'Pol said. She knew where he was going with this but elected to let him finish.

"But Surak didn't speak English, did he?"

"No, he did not," T'Pol said, more than a little impressed with her husband's logic.

"So, are those Surak's words or not?"

"Most would agree that they were." T'Pol kissed her husband. "You have formulated an impressively logical metaphorical argument."

"I love it when you talk dirty."

"We can discuss that later tonight." T'Pol brushed her fingers over her husband's lips, smiling despite herself. "In the meantime, perhaps we should inform Academician V'Lor of our decision."

In the main hall T'Pol keyed V'Lor's call-code into the console.

"Good evening, Commander," V'Lor's image said. "Have you and your husband come to a decision?"

"We have, Academician. We will return tomorrow morning so that you can collect the necessary samples," T'Pol told her.

"I am gratified that I will be able to help you. We can discuss what physical characteristics you wish your child to have at that time," V'Lor said.

"Academician V'Lor," T'Pol said as the elderly doctor started to break the connection.

"Yes, Commander?"

"The child's eyes..." T'Pol looked at Trip standing in the open doorway.

"Yes, Commander?" prompted V'Lor.

"I wish them to be blue."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Star Fleet Engineering Test Facility, Oakland**

**January 16, 2157**

"_Po t'fakte q'uo fi'lak mok'to_." _You look hot in that uniform, sailor_.

Trip turned to find a familiar face peeking around the office door. "Hoshi!" Trip jumped from behind the desk to greet his favorite lieutenant.

"How was _Armstrong_?" he asked, dragging Hoshi through the door for a hug.

"Boring," Hoshi replied, rolling her eyes. "No new aliens to talk to. Just eighteen months of survey work for the Colonial Authority."

"You're complaining?" Trip poked Hoshi in the shoulder. "And look at you, a full lieutenant."

"That's me," Hoshi said with a grin. "High speed, low drag. Right up the promotion ladder. Ensign, j.g. and now lieutenant."

Trip steered Hoshi to a chair and sat on the edge of his desk. "How's Travis?"

"He's fine. He's still on board helping with the post-mission debrief." Hoshi leaned forward in her chair and poked an accusing finger at Trip. "The word on the grapevine is that _you_ are going to be a daddy."

"Is that what you do with all that expensive comm gear? Gossip?" Trip said with a smile.

"Beats listening to stars hiss. So, is it true?"

"Yep," Trip said, puffing out his chest. "Two month ago. Another eight and T'Pol and I will be the proud parents of a bouncing baby boy."

"Eeeeeeeeee," Hoshi squealed in delight and leapt at Trip for another hug. "Congratulations! I am so happy for you two!"

"Thanks," Trip said, laughing.

"Where's T'Pol? I want to congratulate her, too," Hoshi added, still beaming.

"She's taking some time off before going back to the Admiralty," Trip said, a touch more seriously.

"Is everything alright?" Hoshi asked, suddenly equally serious.

Trip held his hands up. "No, no. Everything's fine with her and the baby. It's just that...they had to induce ovulation, and do some other things. She had a tough time at the start but she's doing a lot better now. She should be back at work in a couple of weeks."

Trip had a natural distrust of doctors, Phlox notwithstanding, and his experience on Vulcan hadn't changed his opinion. Academician V'Lor and her staff had done everything they'd claimed they could do. It was what they hadn't bothered to mention that still angered him.

Vulcan females can only become pregnant during _pon farr_. Except in this case there was no bonded Vulcan male to trigger T'Pol's fertility. The medical staff had been forced to use massive doses of hormones to fool T'Pol's body into accepting the fertilized ova.

It had been rough on T'Pol, physically and mentally. Without the psychic and pheromonal cues a Vulcan mate would provide, T'Pol's artificially induced _pon farr_ lasted much longer than normal. What might have started as an adolescent's fantasy quickly palled as Trip watched his beloved wife suffer because he couldn't give her everything she needed.

If he had known what she would face, he would never have agreed to it. In fact, Trip suspected that T'Pol had deliberately kept him in the dark about that aspect of it. Her willingness to go through all that so they could have a child made Trip realize exactly how lucky he was to have her.

"So, are you doing all sorts of 'daddy' things, like picking out wallpaper for the nursery and stuff?" Hoshi asked, obviously relieved at Trip's assurance that everything was fine.

"Well...sorta," Trip answered with an embarrassed grin. "I bought some stuff during lunch," he said, pointing at a large bag in the corner.

Ever nosy, Hoshi pounced on the bag looking for treasures. "You're kidding me," she said, holding up a football.

"So?" Trip replied, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Shaking her head in amusement, Hoshi dropped the football back into the bag. "He's not even born yet."

"Do you realize how strong my kid is going to be?" Trip answered. He held up a garnet and gold data chip with the Florida State University logo embossed on it. "I defy you to find the word 'human' in _any_ NCAA rule book."

"Un huh," Hoshi said, obviously unimpressed. "I think T'Pol is going to have something to say about that."

"I've got a few years to work on her," Trip said confidently.

**Tucker/T'Pol Residence**

**January 16, 2157**

Trip slipped quietly into the house, not wanting to disturb T'Pol if she was resting.

Passing the thermostat he checked the house's environmental systems. Thirty five degrees, ten percent relative humidity, air exchange on high - right where he'd set it this morning. T'Pol kept turning the temperature down to something a human would find comfortable, but he kept turning it back up to something approaching normal room temperature for a Vulcan.

Eventually he'd gotten tired of her stubbornness and put a security code on the thermostat. When she was fully recovered he'd take it off again, but until then he wanted her to be as comfortable as possible.

Tiptoeing into the study he found T'Pol seated at the computer.

"_Pa t'quan ash'yam_," he whispered in her ear. _I am home, beloved_.

"I heard you come in," she said, turning her head to receive a kiss. "Did you have a productive day?"

"Yep," Trip said. "Hoshi's back. She wants to come by and say hello when you're feeling better." Trip ran his hands along T'Pol's shoulders. It was an affectionate caress that also let him check how much weight she'd regained since their return from Vulcan.

"It will be pleasant to see her again. Have you scheduled a time for her to visit?"

"I told her to check back in a couple of weeks, when you're back at work." Trip flopped down in the chair next to the desk. "And how was your day?"

"Very productive," T'Pol said with just a hint of pride. "I completed all of the data assessments that accumulated during my absence, and programmed an additional series of tests for the linear warp field generator."

"Good," Trip said, happy that T'Pol was feeling up to tackling work again, even if it was just a little catch-up work from home.

"And the security code to the thermostat is three-five-two-two-six," she added without a trace of smugness.

**Star Fleet Headquarters, San Francisco**

**March 18, 2157**

"_Magellan_ comes on line in five months, Captain. We want you to take her," Admiral Sarnow said over coffee in the senior officer's wardroom. He liked to give good news in an informal setting.

"_Magellan_?" Trip echoed, vainly trying to fight down a grin.

"Hull number NCC-34," Sarnow told him with his own smile. "Fast as sin, with a phase cannon big enough to punch a hole through Titan."

Trip paused for a moment, relishing the though of commanding one of the new, second generation starships. It was the pinnacle of any Star Fleet officer's career. Even Trip, an engineer to his very soul, secretly yearned to sit in the center seat.

At least, he thought he did.

"Admiral, I'm...honored," Trip said. "But with T'Pol and the baby coming, I can't be away for months, or even years."

Admiral Sarnow nodded. He had a wife and family of his own. He understood the sacrifices Star Fleet asked of its officers.

"It's not a problem, Trip," he told him reassuringly. "_Magellan_ won't be out of the yards for another five months. Then another six to eight months doing work ups and getting everything calibrated. You won't go farther than Persephone for at _least_ a year."

Trip stared into his coffee. "I'm sorry, Admiral. I have to respectfully decline," he said after a moment.

"Trip, you're a captain," Sarnow said. "If you ever want your own flag, you have to have a ship command in your jacket," he told Trip, referring to his personnel file.

"I never wanted to be an Admiral, sir." Trip said. "No offense."

"None taken," Sarnow chuckled. "But here's something for you to consider. Star Fleet is expanding, and there are a lot of bright young officers coming along." Sarnow leaned forward in his chair. "There's only so much room at the top, Trip. Get passed over for promotion a couple of times and they'll retire you."

Trip sighed. He hated these kinds of decisions, but this one was remarkably easy to make.

"There was a time, Admiral, when all I cared about were warp engines, going faster and farther, and pushing the envelope as far as it'd go..." Trip's voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.

"Rick," Trip said, using the Admiral's first name. "T'Pol'll live another hundred twenty, hundred forty years. I don't have that kind of time. I don't want her to have to spend one extra minute without me."

"The answer's no, Admiral."

Admiral Sarnow raised his mug in a toast. "Here's to your beautiful wife and baby. Maybe, _just maybe_, the only things worth giving up a command for," he said.

**Tucker/T'Pol Residence**

**August 26, 2157**

Trip walked through the front door after a long, exhausting day. He dropped his attaché by the stairs and leaned back against the door, enjoying the first peaceful moment he'd had all day. After several seconds the rumbling in his stomach and delicious smells coming from the kitchen roused him.

Stepping into the kitchen he noticed the food replicator was on standby and T'Pol was busily chopping something green and knobby. "Hey," Trip said, kissing T'Pol on the side of her neck while reaching around to rub her swollen abdomen. T'Pol reached up with her free hand to stroke his hair.

"You don't cook," he said, looking over her shoulder. "What's this?"

"The replicator will not produce Vulcan dishes," she reminded him. "The dietician at the consulate provided me with foodstuffs and instructions. I am attempting one of the simpler recipes."

"Gonna cook for the rug rat, huh?" Trip asked with a smile. T'Pol gave him a cold look.

"Please do not use that epithet to..." T'Pol put the knife on the counter and spun around, nostrils flaring.

"Who is she?" she demanded.

"Who's who?" Trip replied, bewildered at his wife's change in demeanor.

"The female whose perspiration is on you," T'Pol said, murder in her lovely brown eyes.

"I don't have anyone's perspiration on me," Trip answered, stepping back a little.

"You lie!" T'Pol said. "You reek of it!"

"Honey," Trip said soothingly, putting his hands gently on T'Pol's shoulders. "Remember what Dr.M'Vir told us? That you might be a little moody the last few weeks?"

"She did not say that." T'Pol declared. "She advised me to meditate more frequently to assist with the additional stresses of pregnancy."

"Un huh," Trip answered, agreeable to anything at the moment.

"You have not answered my question," T'Pol said with menace.

"Sweetheart, I was on _Lancaster_ all day checking out the damage." Trip mentally snapped his fingers.

"The environmental systems were down and it was hot as hell. Master Chief Berger and I spent a couple of hours in the access tubes. Maybe she got some sweat on me then."

"Master Chief Berger. Your leading petty officer?" T'Pol asked.

"Yeah," Trip said, nodding emphatically.

T'Pol recalled meeting Chief Berger at a departmental party the previous year. While one of the best chief petty officers in Star Fleet, physically she was charitably considered plain. A few less kind souls wondered if she had any Klingon ancestors. Trip had privately confided to T'Pol that he thought she'd be a great weapon since her face could stop a warp engine.

As the heat of the moment passed, T'Pol found herself feeling very foolish. "I apologize for accusing you of infidelity," she said, unable to look Trip in the eye.

"It's ok, sweetheart," Trip said, hugging her to him and kissing her hair. "I know it's not easy right now."

Trip lifted T'Pol's chin and kissed the corner of her mouth. "You know I never look at another woman," he said. "Besides, Berger must be sixty years old..."

Trip made it out of the house just in time.

TBC


End file.
